


Firewhisky

by amorae



Series: Honeydukes [1]
Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Truth or Dare, alcohol mention, in which my stupid idiotic homosexual slytherin sons are stupid idiotic and homosexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorae/pseuds/amorae
Summary: Albus Severus Potter isn't nearly as dense as his father, but if there were a competition for "The Densest Potter Boys Alive", it would be a very, very close call. A Slice of Life fic about Albus falling in love with Scorpius.





	

Logically—somewhere in Albus’ mind, _logically_ —he realized that this was actually rather kind of his mother; that this... _talk_ was not a talk very many children received, and that it was indicative of how loving and supportive his parents (no, _his mother_ ) truly was. To that end, he was thankful for the talk, thankful to be sitting across from his mother, fidgeting slightly by bouncing his leg up and down.

Despite all of this, however, the rest of himself—which, admittedly, was _most_ of himself, as he was never prided on his logical mind or calm demeanor or ability to look at things objectively—was screaming for release.

“I just want you to know, Albus, that no matter what, we love you.” Albus looked up at her with a pained expression: “I’m not—”

His mother rushed in. “I’m not trying to say that you are! You’re far too young to know for sure either way, if you ask me.” She smiled at him, looking soft and loving and kind, looking like his mother. All of this should have been reassuring, but instead it just made him feel slightly ill. “What I _am_ saying, however, is that fifth year...well, fifth year is a stressful and exciting time. And,” she added, “not just because of OWLs.” Albus continued to fidget, his leg bouncing more quickly, trying to keep his hands steady and in his lap, desperate to not catch his mother’s eye. “People are going to begin dating, your friends may discover that they aren’t straight—I just want you to know that we love you, and we want to know about your life!”

Albus looked up briefly at his mother before lowering his eyes quickly; “Did you have this talk with James?” He looked up at his mother out of the corner of his eye to watch her reaction.

She looked slightly uncomfortable as she said, “Well, no—but only because—only because he had his first girlfriend in second year...I did have a talk with him, but it was a different—”

“ _Gross_ ,” Albus interrupted in a monotone voice. His mother smiled at him patiently. “All I am trying to say is that you can talk to me. Even if it’s just about the fact that your friend thinks they might be gay, or you are having girl trouble, or,” she pauses, looks at her son and his continued pained expression, and chooses to skip over her next clause, “or _whatever_ you may need to talk about, I am here for you! And so is your father.”

Albus fought to keep the sneer off his lips with little success, but if his mother noticed, she did not comment, which he was thankful for. The idea of talking to his _father_ about sexuality was absurd. He could barely ask his father for help in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and his father was an _auror_. It was an absurd concept. “Well, thanks for this talk, Mum!” Albus said. “I’ll be sure to, er, owl you in the event that I find I want to snog any of my friends, which considering _I don’t have any friends_ , well, except for Scorpius, would either mean me kissing the statue of—of—Gregory the Smarmy, or _Scorpius_ , and that...well, that…” Albus ran out of steam and much to his chagrin, his mother was beaming at him, clearly holding back peals of laughter at his soliloquy. Albus crossed his arms across his chest and tapped his fingers against his arm, his leg bouncing at what must have been the speed of light as he grumbled to his lap, “I’m jus’ sayin’, not gonna happen.”

“Just know that in the event you _do_ need someone to speak with, I’m always here for you.” His mother stood up, patted her youngest son on the head, gently ruffled his thick black hair, and began to leave, but not without saying as if in passing, “And if you _really_ don’t wish to speak with me, Professor Longbottom is a great confidant.”

Once alone, the sound of the door latch echoing against his skull, Albus let out an exaggerated sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair before throwing his arms down by his side and slumping down into his seat. “ _Mothers_ ,” he muttered to himself, staring dolefully out the window, wishing he still had access to a time turner so that he could go back in time and stop himself from agreeing to that conversation in the first place.

  


“This is _stupid_ ,” Albus groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I don’t— _this is so mugglish_.”

“Oi! Don’t let your father hear you talking like that!” Scorpius laughed, letting his fist relax and his hand fall. “Or your Aunt Hermione. Your Aunt Hermione would have your head if she heard you say that.”

Well. Scorpius had Albus there. But Scorpius did not wait for Albus’ response and instead raised his hand again, making a fist while he did so, and said: “Okay, let’s try this again. D’you remember what to do?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Albus said impatiently. He went through the motions with Scorpius, attempting to follow the bizarre chain of demands Scorpius was saying to do. Scorpius had spent his summer researching muggles, in what Albus thought was potentially an attempt to infuriate his father, who had grown, according to Scorpius, obnoxiously supportive and loving since their adventure in fourth year. (“It’s almost as if he thought he was going to lose his son and realized that he was acting like a troll,” Albus commented dryly when Scorpius had confided this to him in their first moments back on the Hogwarts Express, which had earned Albus a suitable whack across the back of his head from his friend.) Scorpius had returned from holiday with a new love for muggle literature and film, and determination to teach Albus a secret handshake.

After what felt like an eternity but what was in reality only about ten minutes, Albus had mastered the secret handshake to Scorpius’ satisfaction, and he dropped the subject while promising to quiz Albus later on in the trip. “Mate, how was your summer? You haven’t told me anything!”

“That’s because you wouldn’t stop talking long enough,” Albus said with a grin. “It was alright. I played a lot of gobstones. Mum sent me off to work in Uncle Ron and Uncle George’s joke shop in Diagon Alley while Dad went to work.” Albus rolled his eyes: “Whenever I went, Dad _insisted_ on taking me out to ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s, which was a fine enough gesture, but it was always _Quidditch_ this and _Dark Arts_ that. Honestly, I don’t think people realize what a huge dork my father is.”

Scorpius smirked at him. “As opposed to his son, dork extraordinaire, Potions master who gets excited at the sight of an empty cauldron?”

“I do _not_ ,” Albus said, glowering at his best friend, who laughed. Albus had a quick, invasive memory of sitting in the spare room, moments after his mother left, thinking about _love_ and _sexuality_ and all of that rubbish, wondering whether he and Scorpius would acquire girlfriends this year or if they were doomed to be bachelors for an eternity, wondering what Scorpius would do if—if Albus began dating, wondering what _he_ would do if _Scorpius_ began dating…. Instead of bringing this up, Albus turned to his best friend and asked, “So, what exactly is so appealing about muggle movies?”

Scorpius beamed.

  


Halloween came and went and regularly, early in the morning, the grounds were dusted with white. Term was in full swing and the entire fifth year class was bogged down with seemingly never ending homework. Scorpius was fixated on his Muggles Study homework, Albus on Arithmancy; they had agreed to work separately on their homework for electives for 45 minutes, which was when they would work together on a subject they shared for an hour and a half; it was a good system that worked well for the boys as they tried to juggle the ever growing pile of homework with their need to relax. They were in the common room, far away from the fire and in a corner, a lamp turned on so that they would not go blind; the common room was filled with flickering, languid green light that seeped in through the windows. A group of third years sat closer to the fire and argued about Care of Magical Creatures, occasionally cursing Professor Hagrid for his fixation on dangerous creatures.

Scorpius was nose deep into a weather worn copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ , a muggle book, which he had to write an essay analyzing in the format muggle students would be expected to use. Occasionally, Scorpius would chuckle to himself: quiet, more a surprised exhale of breath than anything else; he would also gasp or place his palm on his cheek or mouth in surprise, which Albus found truly endearing. It was hard for Albus to focus on Arithmancy to begin with, considering the charts were generally very long and cramped together, but with Scorpius so engrossed in his book right next to Albus, it was more challenging than usual. After a while Albus simply gave up focusing on his work and instead watched Scorpius out of the corner of his eye, smiling whenever Scorpius had a particularly visceral reaction to something occurring in the book. _If I get a D on Arithmancy, Mum and Dad won’t mind_ , Albus thought to himself as he rolled up his parchment and placed it back in his bag.

“Oh, has it been 45 minutes already?” Scorpius looked up from his book, surprise evident on his face. “I’d no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Albus smirked, “you were _very_ into the book. What on earth were you laughing at?”

Scorpius blushed, his pale skin taken over by pink, his ears flaming red; “I’nothin’,” he muttered, dog earing his book and stashing it in his bag. Face still red, he turned away from Albus and rummaged in his bag, asking, “What should we study next?”

Albus sighed. “I say we get started on that History of Magic reading assignment and essay, just to get it out of the way.” Scorpius nodded and extracted his textbook from his bag. Albus did the same, stretching his legs out and plopping them on the table in front of them as he did so. Scorpius moved to lay his head on Albus’ shoulder, and every nerve in his body was suddenly on fire.

  


Scorpius sat on the edge of his bed, curtains pulled back, his legs swinging and occasionally hitting the bed frame. Albus closed the door behind him gingerly, not wanting to startle his friend; Scorpius looked up, saw it was Albus, and continued to pout.

“What happened, mate?” Albus asked, walking to his bed and sitting directly across from Scorpius. “Some fourth years told me that you barged into the common room and angrily stormed up here.”

“It’s nothing,” Scorpius muttered under his breath, continuing to lightly kick the bed frame. “I’m just being stupid, that’s all.”

Albus gestured at his friend; “Clearly, it’s _something_ , otherwise you wouldn’t be in such a state.”

Scorpius sighed, looked up at his friend, looked back down at his hands. “I saw Rose and a sixth year Ravenclaw snogging, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Albus said. He stood up and crossed the short distance to Scorpius’ bed and sat down next to him. “I’m sorry, mate, that’s awful. Did she notice?” Scorpius shook his head: “No, I pretty much turned around and bolted as soon as I realized what I was seeing.” Albus nodded, understanding, and patted his friend’s back. Scorpius placed his head in his hands and groaned into them, mumbling into his palms, “I’m an idiot. Of course Rose Granger-Weasley would never fall for a _Slytherin_.” He said the word “Slytherin” with enough contempt that it shocked Albus, wondering, briefly, how a Malfoy could ever begrudge the family house. Instead of saying anything, however, Albus gently extracted his friend’s hand from his face and held it tightly between the two of them, placing his palm against Scorpius’ palm.

Scorpius chanced a quick glance at Albus before gripping his hand and pulling his best friend into a hug.

  


The Great Hall was silent except for the _tick, tick, tick_ of the timer. Everyone was arranged alphabetically, meaning that Scorpius and Albus were not far off from one another, but still much farther than they would have liked. It was the written portion of their exams, all held together during the same cluster of days. Compulsory classes first, then electives; then they would have the practical parts of their exams the following week. Currently, Albus was tearing through his Potions exam, answering each question with ease. He looked up and over at Scorpius, who was chewing anxiously on the edge of his quill. Albus wanted to shout to him, “Good luck!” or “You’re doing great!” or some other equally supportive comment, but knew that doing so would result in everyone failing their exam, and so refrained.

 _List at least five, but no more than ten, ways in which the Draught of Peace can go wrong_ ….

When the timer went off, Albus had been finished for some time. He had pulled out a spare piece of parchment and began to write a letter to his Mum, which he had not done as regularly as he should have throughout the year, although his mother regularly wrote to him. He began to put his belongings away, but while he did so, he looked over his letter one final time:

 _Dear Mum_ ,

 _I’ve just finished my Potions exam and am waiting for the bell to ring to signal the end, so that I can leave. By my count I’ve got at least another 30 minutes before I am free. This was our second exam, our first was Charms, which I did well enough in, I think...of course, I’ll have to wait for the practical_ — _the practical that matters, as you’ve told me hundreds of times this term…. Anyway, I think I did decently enough on the Charms practical, definitely not “O” material but hopefully at least an “A”. That said, Potions was a blast, plenty of fun, I particularly appreciated the question about Wolfsbane...made me think of Aunt Hermione…._  
_I’m going to see you in a few weeks, so I don’t know why I’ve chosen now to update you about my life...I guess simply because I have the time to do so. Fifth year went by very quickly, if you ask me. You know I am not particularly fond of Hogwarts and usually the year drags on, but having so much work to complete certainly helped make this place more tolerable, in a strange turn of events. Scorpius and I spent much of the year studying...Scorpius has a reinvigorated fascination with all things related to muggles, he keeps lecturing me about the power of muggle literature, it has been exhausting. Has Dad ever read the muggle book_ 1984? Scorpius cannot shut up about it, I think he chose it as his focus for his final presentation...he had to special order something called “poster board” for the project, when it arrived it was just a flat piece of white cardboard, but he seemed very excited by it. Quills did not work very well writing on it, though, and so we had to enlist the help of a muggle born Slytherin first year, who just laughed at us and gave us a very thick marker that smelled rather badly and said that it’d work, and it did. Meanwhile I am nervous about my Arithmancy exam, because I have been struggling to focus while studying, although I have high hopes for my Care of Magical Creatures exam...Uncle Hagrid would have my head if I did not perform well, though, I realize that….  
_Rose has been tolerating me and Scorpius this year, which I guess is an improvement from previous years. She, Hugo, and Lily would occasionally come and study with us, which was nice. James, meanwhile, has been focused on being James_ — _very into pranks, he and Peeves are good friends. You didn’t hear it from me, but Uncle Ron has been sending James Skiving Snackboxes all term to help James get extensions while he studies for NEWTs. You’d think by now Headmistress McGonagall would have figured out the Skiving Snackboxes and banned them, but if you ask me, I think she likes them…always seems to laugh when Professor Longbottom exasperatedly calls for her help in determining whether a student is truly ill or whether they have taken a Puking Pastille….  
There is not much else to report on my end. Scorpius and I are going to Hogsmeade the weekend after all our exams are over, to relax and unwind. He knows I hate Hogsmeade, but due to Quidditch practice, he hasn’t been able to attend all year, and so he is somewhat forcing my hand. Truth be told, I don’t mind going with him, so long as he doesn’t drag me into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, where I’m sure I’ll run into Uncle George or Uncle Lee. Perhaps Honeydukes or simply the Three Broomsticks. _

And here is where the letter grows anxious; lines are crossed out and scribbled over as Albus tried to find the right words to ask his mother the true reason why he had pulled out this spare scrap of parchment, staring at the back of Scorpius head while he considered how to phrase this.

 _I was wondering_ — _of course I understand if you and Dad need to discuss it_ — _but I was wondering if Scorpius could come over to the house sometime this summer. I’d like to have a friend over. And since we live so close to a muggle village, I think Scorpius would enjoy the opportunity to explore and learn more about muggle culture, since he is so fascinated by it._

Here, Albus paused, wondering if it would be pushing it too hard to even suggest that the family introduce Albus to Grandpa Arthur. Albus had decided that, yes, it was too soon to be suggesting such things, and instead left a deep ink blot where he had placed his quill and then pondered anxiously his options.

 _No need to make a decision too soon, I understand that this will be unpopular.  
_ _All my love and excited to see you soon,_

_Love,_

_Albus_

Albus nodded at the letter and rolled it up as Scorpius made his way to Albus’ desk; he looked puzzled at the scrap of parchment held tightly in his hands (considering the exams had been whisked away at the sound of the bell, regardless of whether students were finished writing or not), but apparently chose not to comment on it.

“What’d’you think of the exam?” Scorpius asked curiously as Albus swung his bag over his shoulder and the two walked out of the Great Hall. “I thought it was alright. Not as easy as the Charms exam, mind you, but alright. Why did they give us limits on how many examples to provide for so many questions, though?”

“So that we would have to only pick our best responses,” Albus answered easily. “And I thought it was great fun. I enjoyed it, but I’m more looking forward to the practical, of course.”

Scorpius hit his friend in the arm. “ _Of course_ you’re looking forward to the practical. You’re mister perfect, Mister Potions, the apple of Slughorn’s eye, ‘ _My, you have your father’s, and his mother’s, potions abilities_!’” Scorpius managed a surprisingly decent impression of Slughorn’s lazy voice, deep and guttural but slow, akin to what Albus assumed men in the American South must sound like. Albus simply shook his head at Scorpius as the two descended the stairs to the Slytherin dungeon. They reached the blank expanse of wall that greeted them at the bottom of the stairs and Scorpius, somewhat flippantly, provided the password—Nightshade—and the two ducked into the common room as the wall lifted.

“What should we do with the rest of our day?” Scorpius asked as they dropped their bags in their beds, relieved to be free of the added weight of textbooks, quills, parchment, and test anxiety. “I suppose we could study for our Transfiguration exam, but we still have so much day, do we really need to bury ourselves in studying so early?”

Albus shrugged. “I’ve got a letter I’d like to send,” he said, holding the rolled parchment up. “Fancy a stroll up to the Owlery?” Scorpius nodded, and the two trekked back out of the common room and back up the stairs, discussing the exam they had just endured in animated tones.

“I really appreciated the questions about the Draught of Peace,” Albus mused as they clutched the railing of a moving staircase. “I thought they were wonderfully written. Mum brews a lot of the stuff due to Dad’s nightmares, and I’d keep her company while she brewed it when I was young, so that was fun for me.” Scorpius smiled at his friend, refraining from calling him a nerd or a know-it-all. “Yeah, I figured you’d like those questions. Only reason I know jack shit about it is because of you...remember when Slughorn had us make it earlier this year? And we fought over it?”

Albus laughed, nodding. “Yeah! You wanted to add the porcupine quills _way_ too early.”

“I’m glad I decided to listen to you,” Scorpius said, which made Albus’ stomach flop excitedly in a way that Albus could not explain. They were at the Owlery now, and Albus called for the family owl, who flew down from her raft and hooted lovingly at the sight of Albus. He attached his letter and pet the owl carefully, telling her to take it to Mum; Albus swore he saw the owl nod before she flew away.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I decided to listen to _you_ whenever you babble about History. Seriously, I am _so_ not prepared for History of Magic; would you mind telling me about the Giant Wars, again?”

Scorpius was unable to fight the look of excitement on his face. “Well, should we discuss the initial Giant Wars, or should we discuss what occurred in 1997, which wasn’t really a Giant War but which I am sure Professor Binns will assign? Really, it is fascinating,” Scorpius babbled, and Albus grinned to himself, feeling that flip floppy feeling in his stomach again. Ultimately, Albus decided that he liked this feeling, and he looked out the corner of his eye at his animated friend while he lectured about the Giant Wars, and all Albus could think was how lovely it was to be taught by a friend.

  


The morning of his final written exam, Herbology, Albus received a letter from his mother:

_Dear Albus,_

_Of course Scorpius can visit; any friend of yours is a friend of ours. What dates were you thinking? I will have to purchase a spare bed, remember to stock up on groceries...what does Scorpius like to eat? He is interested in muggle studies?_ — _should I ask my father for a Dee Vee Dee player and Telly Visions? Write back when you can, and good luck on your exams, darling!_

_Much love,_

_Mum_

  


After much bickering from all parties, it was decided that Scorpius and Mr. Malfoy would arrive via the Floo Network, as it was less hassle and much quicker than flying, which is what both Mr. Malfoy and Dad had wanted, much to literally everyone else’s chagrin. Not for the first time, Albus wondered how it was possible that two individuals so painfully similar could hate each other with such venom, but ultimately he decided he did not want to bring this question up with either his mother or his father. Perhaps if it was still bothering him, he would ask Aunt Hermione someday; she was always ready to answer Albus’ bizarre and inappropriate questions, and she did so with grace and sophistication that Albus always appreciated. That said, it was still awkward to discuss such matters with the Minister of Magic, who just happened to be his aunt. So, Albus swallowed the question and instead chose to be excited that his best friend would be spending an entire month with him.

He had gone out with his Grandpa Arthur the week before to purchase some muggle novelties, like the _DVD_ player and a television to go with it (Albus was proud to know what they were _really_ called), as well as a book of movie tickets from the local movie theatre, so that they could exchange the tickets whenever they wanted to see whichever movie they wanted. He had also picked up a list of movies and their descriptions, what would be released during the month that Scorpius would be visiting; and, of course, he signed up for a local library card, so that Scorpius could take books out if he wanted.

Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius were due to arrive at noon sharp, and so Albus anxiously paced the living room at 11:45, wringing his hands and staring at the fireplace.

Lily walked in, eating a Pepper Imp; “You’re nuts,” she said, not unkindly, offering a bite of her sweet to her brother. Albus refused it, wondering if he took a bite if he might vomit. Lily shrugged and jumped into an armchair, settling in to watch her brother’s panic attack. “Is he staying in James’ room?” James had moved out to move in with Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley, who were unmarried but had been living together for some time; Teddy worked at Gringott’s, where James was an intern, and Victoire worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Albus paused pacing for a moment to shake his head at his younger sister: “No, he’ll be staying in my room,” and after which he resumed his pacing.

“Oh,” Lily said, stuffing another Pepper Imp into her mouth. “Isn’t that weird, though? To share a room with your best friend?”

Albus looked at her oddly, not exactly ceasing his pacing, but slowing down. “We share a room at Hogwarts.”

“But that’s _different_ ,” Lily pressed. Albus shook his head at his sister and picked up the pace, wandering in circles around the living room, rubbing his arms as he willed the clock’s hand to move to 11:55. “I’m just saying, Mum would _never_ have let Sasha sleep in _James’_ room.”

“Sasha and James were _dating_ ,” Albus said dismissively, not even bothering to look at his sister this time. “Of course Mum didn’t let them share a room, I’m sure she thought that if she did, she’d be encouraging them to, I don’t know, snog all night long and get into trouble otherwise….”

“ _Ew_!” Lily shouted, clasping her hands over her ears, sweets tumbling into her lap as she did so. “ _Why would you say that!_ ” Albus grinned to himself, glad to pass on a seeming tradition of making people in the Potter family uncomfortable at the thought of relationships and what they entail.

The clock struck 12 suddenly and Albus turned to the fireplace, his body vibrating with excitement. His mother wandered into the living room, glanced at her daughter who was busy stuffing sweets into the crevice of the couch, and chose not to comment; instead, she stood next to her son, smiling softly. “Excited for Scorpius to arrive?”

Albus nodded, suddenly unable to speak. His mother draped an arm around his shoulders—it was the first time Albus realized that she was short, or at least in comparison to his new height—and his father entered the living room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He smiled loosely at his son, who tried to smile back, but instead simply grimaced.

The fireplace turned emerald green and now Albus was positive he would vomit, perhaps right into his little sister’s lap; and suddenly feet appeared in the fireplace and a disheveled Scorpius stepped out, looking as if he was suffering vertigo. When he saw Albus, however, he bounded forward and wrapped his friend into a tight hug. (Gone were the days when the two had decided hugging wasn’t for them; the contrary, the two hugged frequently now. It had started when Scorpius tackled Albus in the Lake after their time travelling adventure in fourth year, and it was simply a fact of life for the two of them at this point.) Albus laughed into his friend’s shoulder—when did _he_ become taller than _Scorpius_?—and the two continued to hug as Mr. Malfoy spun into the fireplace and stepped daintily out.

They broke the hug and Mr. Malfoy appraised Albus for a moment, before reaching for his Dad’s hand; “It’s good to see you, Harry,” he said smoothly, to which his Dad responded, somewhat awkwardly, “Er, and you too, Mal—Draco.”

Scorpius dropped his luggage and grabbed Albus’ hands, holding them tightly within his own as he babbled: “I just read _an amazing_ book this morning, a muggle book, about a dystopian future set in North America, I brought my copies so that you can read it, _Albus_ it’s so good, apparently there are _movies_ of it, too, which we obviously need to see, if we can find a DVD player….”

And just like that, Albus was tugging his best friend by the hand to his bedroom, excited to show him what he had purchased _just for Scorpius_ , just to make this summer even more special.

  


Albus lay in bed and listened to Scorpius snoring softly from the floor. He turned over, so as to face the floor, watch Scorpius sleep; he loved the gentle rise and fall of Scorpius’ chest, and he wondered what Scorpius was dreaming of.

He considered reaching out and brushing some of Scorpius’ hair out of his face, but decided not to, as he did not want to accidentally wake him up; instead he settled for watching Scorpius sleep, no matter how creepy it was to admit. As the night wore on and Albus grew sleepy, he felt that familiar buzzing in his stomach, the feeling of elation mixed with hope, that he had grown to associate with Scorpius. Scorpius let out a particularly loud snore, which made Albus laugh, and before Albus could stop himself he said, quietly, “I love you, you stupid dork,” to the still night air.

 

 

“You _really_ don’t need to walk me into Kings Cross,” Albus said, attempting to keep his voice dry and free of emotion but instead sounding exasperated. “It’s my sixth term, Lily’s fourth; I think we can manage.”

His father shook his head. “Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur were the only ones to ever walk me into Kings Cross after my first year. I’m not going to abandon you, no matter how embarrassing we may be.”

Albus wished he could tell his father it wasn’t “we”, it was _him_ , but chose to, instead, step out of the car and extract his luggage from the boot wordlessly. He knew he was close to being reunited with his best friend, and that was enough for him, honestly; they would find a compartment alone, like they always did, and they would talk about their summers apart and share hopes for the following year. While Scorpius had visited, they received their OWL marks; Scorpius had received “O”’s in Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology; and had received “E”’s in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy. Meanwhile, Albus had received “O”’s in Potions, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, much to his surprise; “E”’s in Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology; and “A”’s in Arithmancy, Astronomy, and History of Magic. His Mum and Dad had been proud of Albus, and even Mr. Malfoy seemed proud of Scorpius, although privately disappointed that Albus had scored better in Potions, it seemed. (It helped that Albus could shove his marks into James’ face, taunting that he had done better in every single subject.) Scorpius and Albus had signed up for Apparition, as they would both be of age, and were excited for their sixth year. Well—as excited as either could ever be at the prospect of another year at Hogwarts.

Wandering away to find trolleys for he and Lily, Albus continued thinking about the next year, what would be good, what could potentially be terrible; he thought about the impressing fixation on dating, how sixth year was when Balls and parties were regularly held. He thought about how Scorpius would firmly be on the Slytherin Quidditch team as a seeker, just like his father, ( _and just like_ his _father,_ Albus thought), which meant even _more_ parties. Albus had never been fond of Balls or parties and neither had Scorpius, really; the two had spent every Ball together, holed up in the common room, playing gobstones or chess or exploding snap into the wee hours of the night.

But did Albus secretly _want_ to go to a Ball or a party? Was that why he was suddenly nervous thinking about the impending school year and all of its social obligations? Or was it that he wanted to go to a party with a specific person, someone who he had not really considered going to a party with before?

He shook his head as he pushed the trolley toward his sister, who nodded her thanks. They hoisted their luggage and trunks onto their trolleys and then, once loaded, pushed them into the station. His Dad smiled and gestured for Albus to go first, and so he did: closing his eyes and holding his breath as he ran headfirst into platform 9 and ¾, afraid, as he always was, that something would go wrong. But, as always, he arrived on the other side, the Hogwarts Express billowing white smoke; Lily and his parents were not far behind.

Albus was suddenly tackled to the ground by a blur of blond and green; he laughed and tried to pick himself up, but Scorpius was busy squishing him tightly. “Gerroff!!!” Albus managed, trying to pry Scorpius’ fingers from his arm. “We just saw each other, like, three weeks ago!”

“So? I missed you!” Albus tried not to blush at this admission as he could feel the waves of pride emanating from his mother. Albus managed to sit up and look into Scorpius’ face, which was brightly lit with happiness, his grey eyes gleaming. His face was thinner, no longer holding the boyish cheeks that had always made him feel self conscious; instead, his cheekbones were sharp and his chin set, and looking into his face made Albus’ stomach twist, so Albus looked away. “Let’s find a compartment” he mumbled to his lap as he tried to stand up.

He hugged his Dad briefly and then turned to hug his Mum, who told him to write more often, to which he agreed enthusiastically; and just like that the two were pushing their trolleys onto the train until they found an empty compartment.

They settled in, glad that their classmates gave them a wide enough berth so as to let them have a compartment all to their own. Scorpius drew the curtains and cast the compartment into strange darkness, with the only light coming from the giant windows facing the countryside. The family owl hooted softly as she settled in for sleep, and Scorpius’ owl hooted back, already asleep, if his sleepy sounding voice was anything to go by.

The two talked about their summers apart and shared thoughts on the latest muggle movies. Albus had been slowly working his way through _the Hunger Games_ , which he did not enjoy, but was happy to read so long as Scorpius wanted him to read it. They sat next to each other and eventually Albus’ hand found its way into Scorpius’ hand, which neither seemed to mind, but which set fire into Albus’ belly.

 _This is getting out of hand_ , he thought, somewhat miserably; it was getting harder and harder to ignore his reality. Was there any other explanation, really, for the way Scorpius made him feel? If there was, Albus had yet to find it, whether he was exploring Wizard literature and entertainment or muggle literature and entertainment; all roads seemed to lead back to the idea that he was falling in love with his best friend. If he wasn’t _already_ in love, that was. He had spent the summer days away from Scorpius researching what it meant to be gay, what it meant to love a best friend. There was far more material in the muggle world on this topic, than in the Wizarding world, which Albus found idly fascinating. He had watched a number of movies, including _But, I’m a Cheerleader_ !, _Were the World Mine_ , and others using his new DVD player after Scorpius had left. All he had managed to learn was that, yes, people seemed to regularly fall in love with their best friends, and yes, it was regularly stressful; but this was comforting enough for him, and so he let it be. Meanwhile, he enjoyed the sensation of Scorpius’ smooth hand against his own, their fingers entwined as Scorpius explained how his father had bought him a new broom and they had practice seeking together periodically throughout the summer.

“What did you do?”

“Uh,” Albus said eloquently. “Visited James and Uncle Bill at Gringotts. Uh. Went with Uncle Hagrid to visit Uncle Charlie to see some dragons.”

Scorpius’ face lit up. “Your family is _so cool_ ,” he breathed, and Albus could not help himself from smiling as he thought that maybe, someday, Scorpius would become family, too. The thought made Albus’ entire world seem pretty okay.

  


Albus wasn’t sure when it began, but he had suddenly started to kiss Scorpius on the cheek, or forehead, or top of the head whenever they departed; Scorpius had picked up the habit as well, suggesting that it was some sort of European tradition. In reality, Albus had just been incapable of controlling himself one day when Scorpius had been babbling about History of Magic and had been talking Albus’ ear off, to the point Albus had to leave the table to escape; but before he absconded, he had kissed the top of Scorpius’ head, and so the tradition began.

No one seemed to call after them shouting words like “Gay!” or “Faggot!”, which Albus was privately thankful for, but at the same time he wondered if witches and wizards even _learned_ words like this, or if there was any sort of equivalent. His mother hadn’t used any specific terminology, after all; simply implied as such.

He and Scorpius poured over a potion together in Slughorn’s class, attempting to draft Felix Felicis. Scorpius had asked why they were drafting this potion and Slughorn had told the story of a student who had perfected the draft, which had caused a sinking weight in his stomach, considering that Slughorn could not keep his eyes off Albus, meaning it had been his father.

It did not help that the entire sixth year History of Magic curriculum was based on the Second Wizarding War, meaning Albus was in for an entire _year_ of learning about all the wonderful and great things his father had done to save the Wizarding and muggle worlds from total annihilation from Voldemort. It was exhausting, really, to consider that he would have to hear the stories he had heard his entire life, except this time from Professor Binns. So, instead of dwelling, he focused on the potion.

“Get me the Occamy,” he muttered to Scorpius, who obliged. Albus tipped the eggshell into the potion and stirred, heating the cauldron as he went, enjoying the way the previously murky light blue potion was turning bright brown as he went. Albus thought about how desperately he did not want to be compared to his father, as he, rather violently, shook some common rue into the potion; the potion spit into his face, causing him to cough and reel away. Scorpius jumped in and continued to stir, lighting the cauldron quickly, and to both of their satisfaction their cauldron turned a beautiful golden color.

“Well done!” Slughorn boomed from ahead, watching as Scorpius and Albus fought with the potion. Rose glowered at them over her shoulder, her otherwise straight hair turning curly in the humidity of the potion; “Fifty points for Slytherin, wonderful job!” Albus and Scorpius gave one another a high five as they wiped sweat from their foreheads. Scorpius beamed at Albus and put his head on Albus’ shoulder while they waited for the rest of the class to finish, and as far as Albus was concerned, they could spend the rest of their lives in this position and he’d be perfectly fine with that.

Scorpius occasionally chuckled while watching the Gryffindors struggle to complete their potions; no one really seemed to get the hang of it, which was amusing for both Slytherin boys. Eventually, Slughorn called time and tested each product, and declared Scorpius and Albus the winners. They high fived again as Slughorn bottled up the potion for both of them and then they left the dungeon, ready to head to Transfiguration.

  


_He ran his hands through his best friend’s hair, resting his palm at the base of his neck, holding tightly. The feeling of Scorpius’ lips against his own made every nerve in his body hum with excitement and elation, and it was all Albus could do to stop himself from laughing into his friend’s mouth. Instead, what came out was a sort of moan as he tightened his grip on Scorpius, pulling him closer; Scorpius responded, gripping Albus’ waist tightly, tongue pressing gently against Albus’ lips._

_Albus had Scorpius pressed against a wall, but no matter how hard Albus tried, he could not seem to get closer to Scorpius. He wanted to touch Scorpius everywhere, he wanted to never stop being this close, he wanted to be closer. It was all too much for Albus and yet, somehow, not enough. He brought his hand from the back of Scorpius’ neck and cupped his cheek lightly, which made his stomach flutter and made Scorpius sort of—gasp into Albus’ mouth, kissed him harder…._

Albus awoke with a start, suddenly very uncomfortable and cold. He reached for his wand, blindly, hand groping in the darkness out of his four poster, and with a simple flick mumbled “ _Scourgify_ ” under his breath. He felt shame rise to color his cheeks in the aftermath, wondering where on earth that dream had come from.

Wildly—irrationally—he blamed his mother for his recent predicament. _If she had never had that_ talk _with me_ , Albus thought to himself irritably as he rolled over in his bed and tried to get comfortable again, _then maybe this wouldn’t be happening. She put ideas int my head_! Even while Albus thought this, he knew it was, well, silly. This had nothing to do with his mother and, even if it did, she was only responding to what she saw. Frankly, this was _entirely_ Albus’ fault and Albus’ problem.

Was it even a possibility that Scorpius would someday feel the same way? Albus squeezed his eyes shut, tried to banish the thoughts from his mind. Frankly, the only thing worse than Scorpius not returning his feelings would be Scorpius reciprocating.

The next morning, Albus struggled to look Scorpius in the eye, which Scorpius noticed. If Scorpius was concerned, however, he was doing an excellent job pretending he wasn’t as he tucked into his breakfast sausages. Albus struggled to keep his eyes off his best friend and struggled to eat his breakfast.

It was one thing to recognize that he loved Scorpius, and entirely different thing to recognize that he _loved_ Scorpius. He had understood for _years_ that he would literally die for Scorpius, and after all, Scorpius had _literally_ turned back time for him, so Albus recognized that Scorpius very likely loved him, too. But to dream of _kissing_ his best friend...to wake up to a mess...well, that was a different situation entirely. He felt himself growing nervous as he pushed his breakfast around on his plate; it was absurd that he had woken up like that, _to_ that, it was absurd that this was even happening. Hopefully, he would forget about it and move on with his life. And he would remain a bachelor for ever, would be Scorpius’ best man when he married…. He’d probably wind up marrying Rose, with Albus’ luck….

“You alright, mate?” Scorpius asked, hand hovering over his fork, his head tilted to the side.

“What? Yeah, just distracted.”

Scorpius grinned; “Alright, but if you don’t eat your breakfast, _I’m_ going to eat it.”

  


It had been two weeks since the initial dream, and things were getting out of hand in Albus Potter’s head. It was like he had flipped a switch in his subconscious: while, previously, he had been afraid to admit he had feelings for Scorpius, after the initial dream, what was the point in denying it? And so he let his imagination run wild. He found himself compelled to doodle Scorpius’ name on scrap parchment, but refrained from doing so, knowing that the embarrassment of being caught would likely kill him. Instead, he daydreamed of admitting his feelings, of kissing Scorpius, of taking Scorpius on a date to Hogsmeade, of bringing Scorpius home for Christmas (Christmas at his place had to be a more jolly affair than Christmas at Malfoy Manor), of holding Scorpius’ hand, of….

Professor Binns droned on at the front of the class, and it seemed that only Scorpius was actually interested in what was being taught. A couple of students in the front row were playing Hangman, right in front of Professor Binns; if he noticed, he didn’t draw attention to it.

When class let out, Albus exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding; something about listening to that monotone voice was anxiety inducing. Scorpius gingerly rolled up his notes, placing them in his bag with care. Albus stared at his best friend and watched his movement, and he could not stop himself from wishing he would just reach out and lace his fingers between Scorpius’, so that they could walk, hand in hand, to their next class.

“What did you think of the lesson?” Scorpius asked.

“I didn’t,” Albus responded, trying desperately to force himself to look ahead and not get stuck staring even more. Scorpius laughed at Albus’ response as the two descended the stairs and pushed open the doors to the Grounds. The chilly air bit at their skin and Albus shivered, wrapping himself up in his cloak. They were headed to Herbology, which Scorpius had insisted they continue taking, despite the fact that it was neither of their favorite subjects; Albus figured that even if he had considered dropping it, Professor Longbottom would’ve written his mother and he would have likely received a Howler about it.

They were thankful when they entered the greenhouse, as Professor Longbottom had charmed the room so that it was a perfect temperature. Albus found himself stuck watching as Scorpius extracted himself from his cloak; Albus felt his cheeks growing hot but no matter how hard he tried he could not extract his gaze from his best friend. Scorpius turned, caught Albus staring, grinned awkwardly; then gestured to the table, where pots of Venomous Tentacula sat and waited to be wrestled.

As the rest of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws filtered into the greenhouse, Professor Longbottom found his way to the front of the class, barely able to conceal his amusement at the looks of horror on many of his students’ faces. “Alright, then!” he said. “Today we’ll be working with Venomous Tentacula. You will only be responsible for getting to know the plant today. Now, can anyone tell me a use of the Venomous Tentacula? Ah, yes, Mr Malfoy?”

Scorpius rattled off the answer, sounding as if he had digested a textbook; Professor Longbottom beamed and awarded ten points to Slytherin. He continued his brief lecture about the plant, taking care to remind his students to be careful around the plant and that if anyone should be bitten or otherwise injured, they needn’t wait for his approval, but should instead rush to the hospital wing. Then they were released on the plant, or rather, the plant was released on _them_ ; Albus swore loudly as he pulled his hand back just in time, narrowly avoiding a bite. Scorpius laughed, but his amusement was short lived as the Venomous Tentacula began attacking him next.

Although inadvisable, Albus found his mind wandering as they fought with the plant.

What was he so afraid of?—well, other than vicious, violent plants. It wasn’t as if Scorpius would stop being his friend if he admitted his feelings; Albus couldn’t imagine any scenario in which he and Scorpius would stop being friends. Worst case scenario, it would be awkward between the two of them for a few days, _maybe_ a few weeks if Albus was particularly unlucky. Best case scenario, they could be snogging shortly after. Either way, Albus would be able to plainly lay his feelings out to his best friend. And, if Scorpius _didn’t_ feel similarly, then Albus could focus on the next pressing question—whether he was gay, bisexual, or simply just really liked Scorpius.

If Albus hadn’t been elbow deep in dragon dung, he would have laughed at himself. He was pretty sure he was gay, but that didn’t really matter.

“Oi! Watch out!” Scorpius nearly shouted, swatting Albus’ hand away from the Tentacula’s tentacles. The plant wiggled, as if doing a victory dance. Albus mumbled his thanks to Scorpius, who looked at him with incredulity. “Mate, what on earth were you thinking? It nearly bit you.”

Albus shrugged; “Nothing. It was nothing.” Scorpius shook his head at his friend and dove back into trimming the branches of the plant. At the front of the room, Professor Longbottom called for the class to begin packing up their things, which earned a relieved sigh from the entire group. Albus glanced up at the Professor and remembered what his mother had said to him more than a year before: that Professor Longbottom was a great confidant. “Hey, Scorpius? I’ll meet you back up at the castle, okay? I need to ask Professor Longbottom something.”

Scorpius nodded, swinging his bag onto his shoulder; “I’ll save you a seat in the Great Hall.” Albus smiled his thanks as he took off his gloves and stashed them in his own bag. The class filtered out of the greenhouse and Professor Longbottom hummed happily as he retrieved the pots and brought them back to the front of the class. “Oh, Mr Potter! What do I owe this pleasure?”

“Er,” Albus began. “I’m...I’m having a problem, and Mum told me that you’re a great person to talk to, and that if I ever needed advice or—or just someone to talk to, someone to listen, you were a person I could go to. So, would it be okay if I talked to you?” Albus couldn’t help the pleading tone in his voice as he shifted his gaze to the floor in embarrassment.   

Ever gracious, Professor Longbottom placed the plant in his hands back on the table and nodded to Albus. “Of course you can talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I just—Professor, what do you do when you _like_ someone?”

Professor Longbottom smiled. “Why, you tell them, of course!”

“But what if—”

“There is no ‘what if,’ Mr Potter,” Professor Longbottom interrupted. “Do you know how your parents wound up together?”

Albus couldn’t keep the surprise from his face; he honestly _didn’t_ know. “I always figured it was because Dad and Uncle Ron were such good friends….”

“Well, that was part of it, of course,” Professor Longbottom agreed; “But your mother had been in love with Harry for _years_! It was obvious to literally everyone who wasn’t in their group of friends. Ginny would talk to me and our friend Luna about it her fourth year, and eventually we—that is, Luna and I—advised your mother to move on. To let it happen organically. So it took more than a year before your father got it through his thick skull that he had feelings for Ginny. By that point, she was already dating someone else, and it took even _longer_ until they wound up together. The point is, they could have been happy together for some time but they were afraid of being rejected and tortured each other, and everyone around them, instead.”

 “Er, so you’re telling me to talk to the person, otherwise I might torture everyone around me and myself for years?”

Professor Longbottom beamed. “Precisely. Tell him. It will be okay.”

Albus paused, eyes going wide at the pronoun usage. “It’s—what—”

“It’s alright, your secret is safe with me,” Professor Longbottom said as he winked. “But, do tell him. It’s never too late for happiness.”

  


Lunch was incredibly awkward for Albus, mostly because his heart was beating so violently in his chest that he could hardly hold his fork. He kept looking at Scorpius and then looking away, and was almost incapable of holding a conversation. Scorpius was reading a book and eating; Albus peered at the cover and saw that it was a muggle book, which made sense, considering Scorpius had Muggle Studies next.

“D’you ever want to strangle fictional characters,” Scorpius asked, although it was hardly posed as a question. He took a bite of his sandwich and his eyes never left the page. “I’m ready to kill these people. We’re doing a unit on young adult fiction, which is apparently popular.” He looked up at Albus and lazily waved the book around: “I don’t understand the whole concept of the ‘Internet,’ which factors in a _lot_ for this character.” He put the book down. “Muggles are strange.”

Albus laughed. “ _You’re_ the one taking Muggle Studies, not me!”

Scorpius grinned; “I know, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t _odd_.”

The two continued chatting about literature, muggles, and everything in between. Albus was always enamored with how _easy_ it was to talk to Scorpius. Even in moments of silence, it was easy. Albus never felt compelled to fill the silence with empty babble, and never felt self conscious about what they were discussing. The familiar feeling of his stomach flip flopping, his heart rising into his throat, washed over him. He embraced it.

“Scorp?” Albus began. He looked around, saw that they were by and large alone, with the rest of the Slytherins sitting at the other end of the table. “I need to talk to you.” Scorpius nodded, a look of concern washing over his face.

“Sure, what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “Are you alright?”

Albus waved a hand at his friend; “I’m fine, I just—I need to tell you something.”

“Alright.” A beat. “What is it?”

Before Albus was able to adequately think it through, he blurted out: “I’mprettysureI’mgay.” All one word, said so quickly that he was barely able to conceal the cringe that followed. Not what he _wanted_ to say, but close enough, he figured. This was just—testing the waters. Exploring.

“Oh, me too,” Scorpius said casually. “I thought that one was obvious?”

Albus spluttered. “ _What_!?” Scorpius looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “How long have you known?” Albus asked, trying to keep the surprise from his voice.

Scorpius shrugged. “I dunno, really. It’s never been a big deal. I suppose at least two years? I told my Dad last summer, he was fine with it. Told me if I ever have kids I need to give them the Malfoy name. Said Mum had been a sort of champion of gay rights in London. Fought for protection in the Ministry of Magic, tried to talk to muggles about it, too. How long have you known?”

“Like, two weeks,” Albus said, which earned a laugh from Scorpius. “But what about Rose!?”

“Well, that’s what helped me realize it, honestly. Once I got over that infatuation, it was like, oh. I don’t actually like girls. Much more interested in the other side.” He smiled. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Albus shook his head, then laughed. He never imagined _this_ was how it would go. For the rest of the day, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

He stood a chance.

  


Albus learned that when a seventh year offers some of the hard liquor he had managed to purchase for himself, thanks to his recent birthday, the best solution is to politely decline. This is not what Albus wound up doing, but he understood, on a base level, that come morning, he would wish he had.

It was a shock to him, really, that he and Scorpius had even been invited—he assumed, something about their fourth year made the group like them, just a bit more. Plus, nothing brought together students like academic anxiety. He was more surprised at the ease and _excitement_ with which Scorpius accepted the offer. 

A group of Slytherin fifth, sixth, and seventh years were huddled around the fire, passing a bottle of firewhisky purchased from Madame Rosmerta in Hogsmeade around the small group. Albus and Scorpius shared a seat, squished together in one of the oversized, fluffy armchairs that were generally taken and _always_ passionately squabbled over. Scorpius held the bottle around the neck as he took a sip, grimacing at the sensation of the liquid burning down his throat. He passed the bottle to Albus, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth as he did so. “That’s _strong_ ,” Scorpius said, squinting at Albus as Albus took a hesitant swig. It took all of Albus’ self control to not cough the drink back up, and he nodded at his friend while some seventh years beamed at the pair.

The common room was otherwise quiet; it was nearing the end of term, meaning that the first, second, third, and fourth year students were busy in the library, revising and preparing for their final exams. Meanwhile, the fifth year students had become fed up with the idea of studying and had sworn it off for just one night, the seventh year students were quickly realizing that their time at Hogwarts was almost to an end—and as a result were ready to party with reckless abandon, and the sixth year students were nestled in between copious amounts of test anxiety and worry for the future. Meaning—they all had reasons to drink.

“I’m stressed about Professor Chang’s Charms exam,” a fifth year girl with curly brown hair said. She reached for the bottle and drank from it. “What was it like? Was it hard?” The sixth and seventh year students shrugged; “Not really,” said a seventh year, “but the test changes every year, and it’s more determined by what the Ministry of Magic decides, so….”

A fifth year turned to Albus. “Tell your Aunt to make the test easy.” The group laughed and Albus’ ears only turned slightly red; “It doesn’t work like that, and besides, I hardly ever see her.” The group moved on from the topic as they passed the bottle around their circle, the students becoming progressively more intoxicated. By the time it became midnight, the bottle was empty and the students were, at the very least, tipsy—if not outright intoxicated.

“Less’ play truth or dare,” a sixth year classmate slurred. The suggestion was met with mixed reviews: a few were determined to play, a few were determined _not_ to play, and mostly the group was willing to go along with whatever the more vocal decided.

“That’s so _mugglish_ ,” sneered a seventh year, wrinkling his nose.

Scorpius shot him a dirty look. “That doesn’t mean it’s not _fun_ ,” he said, his tone cold.

The seventh year looked at him, half curious, half annoyed; “I’m not saying it isn’t _fun_ , I’m jus’ sayin’, it’s _mugglish_.”

“Well, if you think it’ll be fun, what do you have against playing?”

Scorpius had the boy there, and so the group conceded to play. The game went off without a hitch, the first person choosing “dare.” “I dare you to jinx your boyfriend!” shouted the fifth year, looking delighted as the sixth year sighed and turned to her boyfriend. “Sorry, love,” she said to the boy, who just shrugged and grinned; “ _Cantis_ ,” she said, and her boyfriend began singing a song from the Weird Sisters, much to everyone’s amusement.

The group went around, giving each other silly and childish dares—”I will _not_ conjure up a cockroach just to _eat it_ , what is _wrong_ with you” “You can’t refuse a dare!” “I’ll refuse a dare if you’re attempting to _make me eat a cockroach_ ”—and the truths were a mixture of silly and serious. It lead to some interesting confessions from around the group, and as the alcohol settled into everyone’s brains, people began to babble more honestly.

Up next was Albus, who fidgeted nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of a seventh year. “Alright, mate,” he said, which struck Albus as odd, considering he would never have thought of them as _mates_ , but he chose to ignore it (due to his somewhat good spirits or his pickled brain, he was unsure, and would likely never parse). “Truth or dare?”

Albus thought for a moment. “Truth.”

The seventh year nodded. “‘re in love with anyon’?”

Albus was unable to stop himself from quickly glancing at Scorpius; Scorpius, too, was looking at Albus, a look of curiosity hidden around the corners of his mouth. “Er,” Albus said. “Sure. Yeah, I guess so.”

The seventh year grinned. “Who is it?” Albus tried to fight the panic rising in his throat, and as he strangled the nerves he said in as cool a voice as he could, “Hey, next question. I already answered that.” The seventh year shrugged and turned to the next person, who was tasked with asking Scorpius next.

Scorpius smirked: “Dare, of course.”

“Dare ya to kiss Albus,” the fifth year girl said immediately, without skipping a beat, as if she had been waiting for this.

“Alright,” Scorpius said, turning his body slightly, so as to face Albus.

The world was suddenly in sharp contrast; the lazily flickering dark green glow from the lake, the crackle of the fire over Scorpius’ flushed cheeks. The way his body was pressed against Albus’, and where their skin touched, suddenly, Albus felt as if his skin burnt, but in a wonderful, beautiful way.

And then Scorpius leaned forward, and placed his mouth on Albus’.

  


_If we ever have kids_ , Albus thought to himself, _I can’t wait to tell them that we had to get drunk and be literally dared to kiss for the first time_.

  


Albus wasn’t sure whether it was the firewhisky or whether it was Scorpius, but Albus’ body hummed with excitement, his chest both constricted and free; he found it terribly hard to breathe, but if he was to die whilst kissing Scorpius, well—that was just the way he was going to go.  

Scorpius moved his lips and Albus followed. He had never kissed anyone before, was relatively sure neither had Scorpius; they were following instinct and what they had seen in muggle romantic comedies. He was dimly aware that the group of people he was surrounded by where whooping and hollering, laughing and egging the two on. That didn’t matter to him, at least not at the moment; all that mattered was the sensation of Scorpius’ lips on his own, the feel of Scorpius’ body next to his, and the gentle way Scorpius’ hand hovered on his shoulder, as if he was afraid to touch it; as if he was afraid to grab it. It was all very soft and gentle and chaste, which was fine and good, but what was _definitely_ a fault of the firewhisky was that Albus’ head was spinning, the world a dizzying maze, as blood began to pool into his lap.

Scorpius pulled apart, smiled a crooked smile at Albus.

“ _Finally_ ,” said a sixth year girl. “It’s been _torture_ watching you two the past six years.”

  


Albus darted out of the common room, Scorpius not far behind. They tread quietly, painfully aware of each footfall. Albus wished silently that he had been the one to inherit his father’s invisibility cloak.

They found their way into an empty and rarely used classroom in the dungeons, quickly closed the door behind them, and latched themselves to one another.

During a brief recess to catch their breath, Scorpius looked at Albus. “Merlin’s beard,” he breathed, “what _took you so long_?”

Scorpius nearly dove forward as he cupped Albus’ face in his hands and _kissed_ Albus, like the world was about to end, like their lives depended on it. And Albus kissed back in much the same manner, tangling his fingers into Scorpius’ hair, enjoying the fact that he was messing up that perfect blond mop. His fingers gently ghosted the back of Scorpius’ neck until Scorpius gasped lightly and pressed his mouth harder against Albus’, if that was possible.

The two were so wrapped up in one another that they did not notice the door opening until the sleepy, agitated voice of Professor Slughorn startled them out of their bubble; “Now, I don’t believe you’re in this room to study for your exams?”

Scorpius and Albus jumped away from one another, faces turning bright red; Albus looked down at the floor and began to stammer, “Pro-professor Slughorn, it wasn’t—”

Professor Slughorn waved his hand at the boys. “Leave it,” he advised; “I’ve been a professor long enough and have seen enough generations of students through this school, I know what was happening.” Albus looked up, saw the glint of humor behind Professor Slughorn’s eyes. His nightcap was almost comically small as it attempted to swallow his bald head, his striped pajamas clashing against the barren backdrop of the classroom. “Now, I will have to dock a few points from Slytherin, which is a shame. How about ten each? And—now, this one is up to you—I can tell Headmistress McGonagall, or I can owl your parents.”

The boys glanced at each other before turning to face Professor Slughorn; “McGonagall,” they said in near unison, which earned a hearty chortle from their professor.

  


“Can we at least have detention together?” Albus asked, rather weakly.

Headmistress McGonagall looked pained. “ _No_.”

  


The end of term approached much more quickly than either had anticipated, their final exams passing without much fanfare. Even though they had been bogged down with revision to the point that neither had time to do much else, they often opted to forego sleep in exchange of stealing a few extra moments together. And, mostly, those moments were spent with their lips locked.

The boys in their dormitory were mostly fine with it, so long as Albus and Scorpius remembered to place a simple locking charm on the door during their moments alone. That said, occasionally one of their roommates would wander in, exclaim something like, “Gross!” or “Get a room!” before backing out and leaving the boys in peace.

Albus turned to Scorpius after one of these moments. “Well, you look right snogged,” he said cheerily.

“Shut up,” Scorpius snapped back, pulling on Albus’ tie, bringing him back into a kiss. Albus couldn’t complain.

  


As usual, they had a compartment all to themselves on the train back to London. They managed to separate themselves from one another long enough to ponder their marks on their final exams, to share stress about their upcoming and final year at Hogwarts, and to muse whether their parents would allow Albus’ to spend part of the summer at Malfoy Manor, and Scorpius part of the summer at his place.

The curtains to the compartment were drawn, but Lily had noticed them enter the compartment before, and as she walked by, peered in. “Gross! Gross, gross, gross!” she nearly shrieked at the sight of Albus sitting in Scorpius lap.

They pulled away, and Albus was unable to keep amusement from coloring his voice. “Y’know, the curtains were drawn _for a reason_ , Lily.”

“You had your _tongues down each other’s throat_ ,” Lily retorted, looking more and more grossed out; “ _how is that even fun_.”

Albus rolled his eyes at his little sister. “Don’t worry, someday you’ll find someone other than your pillow to snog.”

Lily crossed her arms across her chest. “Wait until I tell Mum,” she said, and without another word, turned on her heel and left the two Slytherins alone, the sound of the compartment door sliding closed acting as a bookend to her statement.

Scorpius smirked at his boyfriend, who was only able to reciprocate the expression. “Well, they’ve gotta find out sometime.”

Albus kissed the tip of Scorpius’ nose.

**Author's Note:**

> I love my idiotic gay sons!! 
> 
> Anyway, lemme know what you guys think! I haven't written fic in literal YEARS because Homestuck burned me too hard, but I read Cursed Child over Thanksgiving and was immediately enamored with my stupid gay Slytherin sons. Then I spent an entire day reading Scorbus fic and now here I am. 
> 
> This is not the fic I set out to write, which probably means I'll be writing more Scorbus. Truth be told I am not the biggest fan of Albus' character, which is why, I think, I wrote this from his point of view. I tried to keep in character, which was sort of tricky, since we don't really get much of Albus or Scorpius' character by reading the play (well, other than the idea that Albus is moody enough to rival his own father, and Scorpius is a giant Nerd Lord). Much of this is headcanon as for what I think the characters would be like out of the context of a play; that's partially why it is SO slow to build up, and why I spend literally ten thousand words just sort of exploring their world, how they view Hogwarts, and how they view one another. 
> 
> If y'all wanna follow me on the blue hell site, I'm over at Oxyconundrum!


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